There’s a pause, in which the oft-credulous Benedict struggles to believe him, but he simply knows Bastien too well by now. His face reddens with indignation, his expression darkening. He doesn’t deserve this, he thinks.
“You’re an arsehole,” he says in an undertone, his voice quavering, and he gets up from the table just as quickly as he sat down.
Before he’s completely stepped away, however, Benedict turns with a toss of his hair to snip, “and Rattie loves me more than you.”
The quavering is right on the verge of making him crack — because no, Benedict doesn't deserve it, not for more than a few seconds — when the comment about Rat Red lands and all hope evaporates. His eyebrows pinch together, a faint hint of what are you talking about to maintain the pretense in place of a more genuine and more miserable I fucking noticed, and he doesn't try to stop him from going.
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“You’re an arsehole,” he says in an undertone, his voice quavering, and he gets up from the table just as quickly as he sat down.
Before he’s completely stepped away, however, Benedict turns with a toss of his hair to snip, “and Rattie loves me more than you.”
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